


Novelty

by NancyBrown



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Domestic, Improper Use Of Socks, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink is in the eye of the beholder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Novelty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle 14, prompt(s):
> 
> Ianto Jones/Jack Harkness, avant garde, games, domestic

Sometimes, the domesticity scares him.

They still fight aliens, naturally, and they still work with the non-lethal ones. Gunplay isn't a kind of sex game (usually) nearly so much as it saves their necks. The Earth and Cardiff are in danger more often than a hero's love interest in a badly-written film, seemingly back in harm's way after barely a moment's time for some quick kissing. It's all very exciting. Honestly. Quite.

But when he and Jack are home, things are frankly so normal to be a bit terrifying. He's learned to cook under Jack's patient if inconsistent teaching, though Jack still makes the majority of the meals they eat here. Jack leaves him the washing-up too often, but does show up to dry, using the tea towel to drag Ianto in for kisses when the crockery isn't endangered. Their neighbours genially tolerate the odd hours and invite them over for dinners and parties they can't accept. Even the housework is mundane, the dusting and hoovering traded off as neatly as you please.

"What?" Jack asks, after an early night (and no bad thing, bloody Rift back in full fury after that lull Ianto had let himself believe was the new status quo, their first night home before eight in a week, ugh). He's folding underclothes, and looks frankly ridiculous with socks spread around him in neat piles on the bed.

Ianto frowns. "Do you see this?" He waves his arm, taking in the neat bedroom, the whole flat really. "What are we doing?"

"Folding," Jack says, like Ianto's an idiot.

"This is surreal," Ianto shoots back. "You're Captain Jack 'I've Shagged Half the Galaxy and the Other Half Are Next' Harkness. Why are you folding my socks?"

He hears the other question curl up in his voice, and he doesn't like it. He sits down heavily on the bed, away from Jack.

"We don't have to fold the socks."

"Jack."

Jack breathes. "What's the sexiest thing we've ever done?"

"What?"

"Pick."

Ianto thinks back, remembering nights spent spread-eagled in this bed, nights spent tying Jack meticulously to his desk and buggering him hard, nights spent drawing his name in alien languages over Jack's skin with chocolate paints and eating him clean again. "I can't pick." What would Jack choose, given every dalliance they'd every undertaken? Jack likes the feel of Ianto's fingers stretching him open, and Ianto knows Jack loves nothing more than the blunt head of a cock pushing into him, with his cries muffled by a thick rubber gag and his body convulsing with effort. Would he pick that?

"I can," Jack says with simple certainty. "The sexiest thing we ever did was in the living room. You turned on a programme you didn't want to watch, and you fell asleep with your head on my shoulder."

"But that's … " He struggles for words.

"Amazing," replies Jack. "It was amazing." And it occurs to Ianto that this is just like the office: something incredibly mundane is out of Jack's experience. "I'm more than happy to drive my tongue into your mouth then deep into your arse, to strip you in the back of the SUV and suck you down like a lolly. That's fun. But this? Folding socks and washing the plates? That's special. That's new." He grins. Jack is nothing if not a sucker for novelty.

"Fair enough," Ianto says, mind ticking over the images Jack has conjured. "And I understand. But perhaps we could … " He raises his eyebrows suggestively. " … up the game now and then?"

Jack's grin widens. He grabs three socks, tying two together to make a longer cord, and deliberately brings the third up to Ianto's mouth. After a moment, he opens and lets Jack push just enough inside. Then Jack removes Ianto's shirt and ties his wrists together.

By morning, the socks are stretched out beyond any possible wear, but Ianto is too tired and happy, and just sore enough in the right places, to give a damn.


End file.
